That Was A Mistake

I finally have the means to write again after being locked in a psychiatric hospital. I was in one for two weeks because I was not safe, and the doctors wanted me under observation while I started Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT). Now I’m back at the same residential treatment facility from which I left early a few weeks prior.

I feel a strange mix of emotions. Relief at being out of the hospital. Happiness that the ECT is having a good effect on my mind. Sadness that my life is on pause. Worry about work and some of my relationships. Tears are coming more easily; I’ve bottled up the emotions in my depression for too long. The fear is that I’m not going to get better or that I’ve irreparably damaged my life. At this moment I have little confidence in my ability to do anything, let alone anything meaningful.

Yet, that is the depression talking.

This most recent hospitalization lasted twelve days; my longest stay. I argued with the attending psychiatrist that I was okay to leave after seven days, but he disagreed. Citing my history of leaving hospitals fairly quickly. I didn’t have a good argument against his position so I stayed in a locked ward for almost half of this month. My patience was sorely tested as I watched the minute hand crawl around the clock; taunting me with how much time I had yet remaining.

I screwed up leaving the residential treatment facility early. I thought it was the correct decision, put my head down, and barreled through to a situation where I was a danger to myself. I hated being back in the hospital, and I’m trying not to beat myself up too much. This path has led me to ECT, and so far I’m having a good response to the treatment. I have between one and six more treatments, and while I complete those I am attending Dialectical Behavior Therapy classes at the residential treatment center, which is where I’ll be staying for at least the next four weeks.

This time, I’m putting my focus on what I can learn instead of just getting out. I owe myself and my family that much. I have not idea how I’ll rebuild, but those are concerns for another day. Today, at least, I’m thankful to be alive.